


june 17th

by shelefttheloom



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FACE Family, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Protective Parents, Watergate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelefttheloom/pseuds/shelefttheloom
Summary: "The American Dream has run out of gas. The car has stopped. It no longer supplies the world with its images, its dreams, its fantasies. No more. It's over. It supplies the world with its nightmares now." (J. G. Ballard) // or, when political scandal escalates into something bigger than America can handle, she finds it hard to believe the word "family" comes back to mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN HETALIA: AXIS POWERS

_He smiled._

The thought seems to stab the nation in the chest, and she bites her lip, teeth digging into soft flesh before forcing herself to relinquish the hold they had as she stuffed down her bubbling panic. Swallowing painfully, America pushes the swirl of emotions away as she pulls off the road and onto the long winding driveway that led Arthur's home, surrounded by a canopy of summer trees. 

It seemed there was a benefit to having all of them set up house in political capitals. His home was something of a haven in the buzz that was Washington D.C.

She isn't surprised to find the driveway empty, England preferring decluttered space outside his houses. America turns off the engine of her car and carefully climbs out, wincing slightly at the ache in her cheek and hand as she shuts the door behind her.

Hesitation came at the front door. A part of her mind says to move back and shut up about the whole affair, but her hand begins moving despite itself and places her hand on the doorknob before pushing it open with a turn of the handle, vaguely surprised when it opened easily.

"Hello?" America wants to wince at the echo of her voice, glancing around to see if anyone was home, and absentmindedly runs a hand over her eyes to dispose of the first few tears that had managed to escape. If Matthew was here, he would have known immediately something was amiss, and probably would have been there before she had gotten out of the car. Taking a inhale, she removes her flats, placing them beside the door and pads further into the house. "Hello?" she calls again, turning into the kitchen, nearly jumping out of her skin at the voice nearly adjacent to her that closed the refrigerator.

"Amelia?"

The soft tenor of France's voice isn't what she was expecting, but at this point, it was better than silence. Amelia bites the inside of her cheek to keep the pain and surprise from showing on her face, though it was a few seconds before she could get it right, flashing him a bright smile that made her chest ache.

"Hey. Do you know where Matthew is?"

She hates how pathetic she sounds.

The older nation places down the bell pepper he had gotten from the refrigerator onto the counter, tilting his head slightly as he looks at her. "Are you alright?"

Dark blue eyes linger on her form, and reaching up with her non-injured hand she finds her face to be wet, infuriatingly enough. Confusion is quickly bleeding into concern from the French nation at her unwanted flinch at the voice behind her, coming in through the large doorway.

"I swear, the next time you want to bake something, make sure you have all the bloody ingredients-" Arthur stops mid-rant at the look on the Frenchman's face, eyes conveying "time to be a parent" and tilted his head at Amelia, who found a new interest in material of the floor.

England fights back the initial reaction of demands and questions as he places the bag of groceries on the counter, words dying on his lip at the redness of America's eyes and the way she holds her right hand against her chest.

She opens her mouth, wanting to explain or saying something other than standing there like an idiot, but his face and that smirk keeps coming to the front of her mind-

_Anger._

_Blood, hot, pulsing through her veins and now she wants to smash his face in but keeps her resolve from where she stands on the opposite side of the desk._

_"I don't know what you want me to say, Miss Jones."_

_"How about cutting the shit and telling me the truth for once? But, oh, wait," she taps the heel of her hand against the temple as if coming to some grand revelation, "lying is like breathing to you, isn't it? I can understand the government, but when face to face with the country you swore to protect- "_

_"This may come as a shock to you, but you aren't the center of the universe, much less mine."_

"Amelia?"

She blinks , and Arthur is now directly in front of her, his hand half outstretched as if he wanted to aid in some way, but like she was a frightened animal. Clearing her throat, she forces something of a smile.

"I…sorry. I didn't mean to…um. God, I- "The words are not coming out in the form she would like, and she takes a shaky inhale as she tries to meet his green-eyed gaze. "Can you just look at my hand?"

Arthur nods , and Francis moves the food objects to the counter underneath the cupboards away from the island as she hoisted herself, quite awkwardly, on top of it. Arthur moves and opened the freezer. Accepting the dishtowel from France, he brings the ice cube tray and empties the contents into the cloth, wrapping it tightly before he hands it to America.

The cold is a wonderful relief on her flaming skin, though the physical did not bleed into the atmosphere of her parents watching her person. Amelia bites the inside of her cheek again, hard enough to want to bleed, pushing down the need to panic again.

France is the first to start to speak. "America- "

She flinches , and then shook her head as if to clear it. "Umm, c-can I stay here tonight? If that's okay."

She tries to ignore the glance that goes between her parents before Arthur speaks. "Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO NOT OWN HETALIA:AXIS POWERS

"Amelia..."

England reaches across the counter and lightly rests his fingers on her upper arm. She tries not to flinch, both with her own paranoia and the bruise she knew was already forming from a few hours previous. It's as if their combined presence alone offered some kind of calm to come over her, however small. France shifts closer as well, moving to the other side of her.

"Ma chérie, if something happened, you can talk to us," he says softly.

The words, kind, loving, honest words that she had so desperately wished to hear from that son of a bitch Nixon who had been sworn in years ago, but were now being said by a man her brother had more history with than she did. The realization of that fact brought more tears to her eyes, much to her embarrassment, which she tries to swallow down.

England must have mistaken her stunned silence for reluctance because he sighs and brushes the hair from her face slightly. "Amelia?"

The nation clears her throat anxiously, shoving her embarrassment down. "N-no. Nothing happened."

Both nations watch her for a moment longer, worry evident on the account that they didn't want to push her, despite her obviously distressed state. "Ok," England says softly and lifts himself up, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "I'm going to get the first aid kit from the bathroom, ok?" He gives France a brief look full of something she couldn't quite make out and disappears down the hall and up the stairs.

Taking advantage of his absence again, she runs a hand over her eyes again and felt the frustration curling in her stomach when it came away wet. America could feel France's eyes on her but she refuses to look over in some last ditch attempt of what little pride she had left and studies the gravel countertop, cold and swirling with black, gray, and white. Before she knows it, Arthur is back again, placing a bottle of pills and the kit on the table. Out of nowhere, France sets a glass of water beside both objects and goes back to leaning against the countertop.

Amelia bites her tongue at the sound of the car door slamming as Arthur's gentle hands lift her arm and support her own aching hand. France and England glance up as the last member comes through, placing the excess bags of groceries onto the counter.

"I know I'm not as old as you two, but it would be nice for some help so I don't have to take five bags from a car and into the house," Matthew says.

Amelia can't help the corners of her mouth curling up into a slight smile at her brother's exasperation, despite the growing pain in her hand. Matthew ignores the quip back in a rush of French from his papa over "I didn't raise you to be as ungrateful as your father," and strides over to his twin, pressing a kiss to her hair. The tension in her shoulders lessens somewhat at the action and he watches in a mixture of confusion and slight amusement at Arthur cleans around and over the broken and red skin of her knuckles and turned his eyes to her face.

The wall comes up, and he pretends not to notice it, though for a split-second she thinks he has concern on his face, but before she could really take it in, he laughs slightly.

"You got in a fight with Russia and didn't let me join?" The words are said with mock hurt, and she forces herself to chuckle at that image instead of-

_panic coming in as she storms down to the empty parking lot, keys digging into her hand and stops beside her car, trying to push down the rage and hurt and shame that kept coming over her in waves, the impact of her cheek still burning._

_it frightens her, the relief she feels when her fist collides with the concrete wall, hard enough to bleed and leave a muddled stain on the surface._

_and again._

_and again._

_and again._

_hard enough to bleed._

_never enough for everything else she was._

The laughter she is forcing out makes her chest ache. "No, unfortunately. My only enemy was a wall."

The concern is felt more this time, but he doesn't say anything outright. "Damn, I can't kill a wall for hurting you," Canada says and both smirk, ignoring their parents' reproachful glares. Still, she can see it under his smile, almost able to read his mind that he wanted a real explanation. Would he still be concerned over the events of something as silly as a fight between her and her boss? Even if he knew, he would no doubt have more rational thinking than she did, right?

"Why did you go toe to toe with a wall?" France's dry voice breaks through her thoughts. He is grinning lazily, but that concern isn't gone from his eyes. Arthur finishes applying a band-aid onto an open cut on her knuckles before leaning back as well, waiting for an answer.

Shame pooled her stomach. She, America, was a superpower, one of the most affluential countries in the world, and had been reduced down to something as pathetic as this? What would they even think of her? Would they even want to care? With that thought came the too familiar pain that threatened to rip through her chest. Matthew winces, unseen to her, his smile fading into surprise at the sudden rush of emotions that went through their link for a moment before being violently shut off.

America looks down at the counter again, looking at the dead, limp thing of her hand, pale against the dark marble. "He hit me."


	3. Chapter 3

Dead silence. America doesn't have to look up to know that all three of the nations had frozen in place. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Canada spoke up.

"Who?" The words were almost snarled. His hands are now gripping the counter. Amelia glances up, but doesn't meet any of their eyes.

"What?"

"Which one of those pieces of shit did that to you?" She half expects England or France to jump in and reprimand him, but both nations are staring at the counter in a forced display of calm.

"Matthew-" Amelia starts, her voice soothing, jumping a bit when the nation slams his fist onto the counter, the bang echoing around the kitchen. He mutters something none of them could quite catch, but Amelia was certain is had something to do with those "goddamn humans" before turning for the door.

Francis seems to snap out of his daze and steps toward his son. "Matthew! Where are you going?" His voice is only half reprimanding.

"Don't worry. I won't leave a mess." The nation gives a grin, which makes America shudder involuntarily. Of course she knows Nixon wouldn't be getting out of this mess, not without a few broken bones, but political scandal aside-

The last thing she needs is another dead president.

"You can't, Matthew." she calls. The words are hollow. A headache is blooming at the base of her skull.

"And why not?"

"And why-and risk political suicide that will take both our asses to the cleaners, no thank you!" she doesn't mean to snap at him, but the stress of the day and the pain of her hand is starting to take a toll. "It's not like it'll do any good." She swallows hard against the ache in her throat and forces a weak smile. "Just another to add on a list of problems." She presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and when that doesn't stop the tears threatening to spill before she wipes her eyes furiously, ignoring the pain in her hand that flared up again. "Thought it was funny."

_"Funny?"_

England was not scary. Not to Amelia. At some point, in some hazy memories shoved in the corners of her brain, he was, at the most, a mix of tea stained grumpiness that only seemed to flare into outburst of either whiskey induced exhaustion or exasperation at both her and her brother's antics. The same went with France, though at times she could see the haze of something darker left over from revolution after revolution flicker in his eyes when something truly angered him.

Canada was another story. The benefits of having the electric current of over a century of history and the world's longest shared border meant that under the haze of politics and the rest of the world, she can feel the shifting of his more complex emotions despite the mask they both put up in the name of formality. He was sunshine, and constantly aware of treating her with the tenderness and patience she didn't know how to allow herself to feel in the first place. They were both of a mixture of over-apologies and loyalty that ran as deep as anything, sometimes to both their detriment.

All of them, in her mind, were a strange mixture of humanity and something older than anything. They were nations, and at the most they all tried their best when it came to this strange idea of "family", especially France and England trying to navigate this even stranger idea of pseudo parenthood.

Both of them spat out the word "funny" like poison, and with such seethed anger that both the younger nations started for a second. Arthur's green eyes darken , mouth setting into something hard and stern as he watches America. The girl fights to breathe normally as she shakily nods.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "But it's not-"

"And was it?" England's voice is laced with barely held calm and America can swear the room is getting colder by a few degrees. "Funny? Or, dare I ask, a blessed misunderstanding?" he spits.

America shakes her head. "I-" she starts, and then winces when her voice breaks, that infernal sign of weakness. "I-I didn't..." She chokes on a sob, covering her eyes with one hand as she struggles to calm herself. The last thing she needed in her pathetic, weak life was breaking down in front of the only people she really trusted. "I didn't mean for shit to get so out of hand, I-"

She stiffens slightly when arms suddenly pull her close to a chest, the lingering smell of rain and tea seemed to be eternally with the Englishman.

"Shh." Arthur's soft voice comes from above her head, which was now tucked under his chin. "It's okay." His hand rubs up and down her back. She focuses on the movement, while also dimly aware at how still both Francis and Matthew still were.

"I'll kill him." That was Matthew.

"Leave him alone, Matthew." Francis says, though his conviction was less than enthusiastic.

"Leave him-are you fucking kidding me?! The son of a bitch has already caused enough scandal, and you think we're going to add this to the list?!" he yells.

America flinches and closes her eyes against the pain the statement cause as she leaned her head against England's chest once again, hiding from her brother's temper. Not that she could blame him. Lord only knew that she would do the exact same, if not worse. Both of the older nations send the nineteen year old a warning look, and Amelia feels England's arms tighten ever so slightly around her.

Immediately, she feels Canada's hand on her shoulder before he gives a sigh. "I'm sorry," he says softly. His hand squeezes gently.

"I don't want you getting hurt." Despite her tears and the headache, she lifts her head and sets him with as much of a hard look as she could muster. Matthew looks at her in surprise for a second before, to everyone's surprise, giving a snort of laughter.

"Ames, I think I can take on a grumpy old man, even with his security."

"But she has a point," Francis sighs. "Though I personally would have no qualms of allowing 18th century justice to deal with the situation. It would be fun to run him though."

England gives a tired laugh. His hand is still moving up and down along America's back, a constant soothing motion. It's a moment before he breaks the silence. "You'll stay here, alright?"

"I left in the middle of my work hours," she argues weakly. Her head is killing her.

"Normally, I would agree with your willingness to stick to work, but not now," he replies. He pulls away and looks at her, gaze a mixture of softness and no arguments.

She sighs and gives a nod. "Okay."


End file.
